I Just Met You
by Spectering
Summary: AU Harvey and Donna Meetings
1. At The Beginning

Here is a very small, introduction to the au meetings of Darvey.

* * *

Donna angles her phone just right and clicks the button to take a picture. Not only does her phone make the shutter noise, but it also emits a prolonged flash. The gentleman who wasn't quite paying attention is definitely looking at her now. Her eyes immediately widen at the realization of what exactly just happened –

meanwhile, he's smirking.

This is shaping up to be the most embarrassing moment of her entire life.

She shrinks down in her seat then, hiding behind her phone screen. She ferociously debates whether to send the picture to her friend or not, but she decides that the damage has already been done. She adds a comment below the picture, _and he saw me_ , before hitting send.

Her friend immediately replies: _oh, he is cute_

Donna huffs. Rather than replying to her on the rebound friend, Rachel, she buries her phone deep into her purses and attempts to pretend that the man she snapped a picture of really just does not exist. However, his smirk widens as he lets go of the rail he's holding on to and he crosses the subway car. She straightens up so fast, angling her back towards the empty seat next to her. Of course the homeless looking man on her other side seems to perk up at the movement and she has no choice but to face her embarrassment head on.

"You're lucky you got a picture of my good side," he says from above her.

Her eyes close as she gathers herself. She secretly hopes that enough time has passed by the time she looks at him again. She counts to three. Slowly, she peels her eyes open to look at him and, damn it, he's still there.

"You don't look like you belong on the subway," she replies.

"I'm a man of the people," he says with a shrug. "Do you mind if I sit?"

She gestures to the empty seat beside her where he promptly sits. She pulls her arms up to her chest, hugging her purse to her body. She huffs. "I didn't mean to take a picture of you."

"That seemed like a pretty voluntarily action to me," he counters.

"Look, my friend just broke up with her boyfriend and she wanted to see what you look like," she attempts at reasoning.

He laughs gently. He says, "She wouldn't even know I exist if you hadn't been talking about me."

"What are you? A lawyer?" She spats.

He shrugs, saying, "I dabble."

"You dabble?" She repeats, unconvinced.

"I practice corporate law uptown," he says, "Want to get a drink?"

"I don't even know you," she says, "Why would I want to get a drink with you?"

"You were the one who conveniently forgot to turn their flash off before taking a picture," he reminds her, "I'm just making light of the fact that you could be a potential stalker."

"So you're brilliant plan is to take your potential stalker out to drinks?" She checks, "Your fancy law degree certainly isn't an indicator of common sense."

"I'm asking you for drinks because I think you're pretty," he says. She feels violated with his eyes on her, but he rolls his eyes to show her just how frustratingly difficult she's being. She's not normally this difficult, but she's in recovery from her embarrassment. "My name's Harvey. Now I'm not a stranger anymore."

"Fine," she agrees with a huff, "One drink."


	2. Before There Was

He begins to slow his feet to a brisk walk as he approaches the water fountains. The key to running is to keep the muscles warm, but a redheaded woman with her hands buried deep into her hair out of the corner of his eye manages to distract him. He slows his walk even more, glancing at her fully as she rips her sunglasses from her auburn locks and slams them onto the bench next to her.

He shakes his head, telling himself to mind his own business. He's curious though. This is the second day in a row that he's seen her talking to herself on that bench as she scribbles on a stack of papers. He absently wonders if he should call the police as he sips at the water in the water fountain.

"Hey," he suddenly hears from behind him. He pauses, peeling his eyes open as he swallows a gulp of water. He releases the button the fountain and turns on his heel to look at her. He chances to possibility that she's talking to him and points at himself. "Yeah, you. Come here a sec."

She's a brave danger to society. He absently wipes at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand as he closes the gap between them. He's an idiot. She could be a psycho bitch or a killer or, worse, totally amazing.

"I don't know you," he says, looking at her with a furrowed brow. He studies her for a moment just to be sure he can't recall her name. He ultimately decides that if he had ever met her before, he would certainly remember her.

"No need to be brazen," she counters with equal force, "I was just wondering if you could help me for a minute."

"Uh," he hesitates awkwardly. The air picks up around him and he feels a chill course through him from the sweat gathered at the back of his neck. He looks around for a moment as her eyebrow raises high on her forehead. He towers over her as he comes to a stop a few feet from her. He swallows and replies, "I guess?"

She smiles brightly, much too awake for it being so early. She leans over and sets her cup on the ground beside the leg of the bench. He watches her carefully, wondering what exactly a woman like her would need him for.

"Sit," she instructs, pointing to the wood plank rather than patting it. Against his better judgment, he sits at her command, noticing that this woman has a way about her that alights a curiosity inside of him. He grips his knees, the skin beneath his fingers a little cold beneath his fingertips. "Here, take this."

She thrusts her stack of papers at him and he takes them, confused. He wonders who she thinks he is, if she knows he's a lawyer. _Oh god_ , he realizes, _the crazy woman wants me to represent her in court_. He hates people.

"Are you following me?" He asks, suddenly.

"What?" Her eyebrows furrow, clearly confused. She stares at him and he feels himself cowering under her gaze. She laughs loudly then and shakes her head. "I'm having trouble remembering my lines and you're the only one here."

"It's not even seven a.m," he points out, "Don't you have better things to do than run lines in the park – alone?"

"I'm not alone," she replies with certainty, "You're here."

"You were talking to yourself before I came over here," he points out.

"Or was I?"

His face falls flat, his lips turning into a thin line to show her just how unamused he really is. He huffs and takes the papers from her, eyes scanning the page and taking in her chicken scratch on the side of the pages. She's scribbled and written and rewritten so many times that he can barely see the actual font.

"Look, you wanted to pull your hair out yesterday and I just saw you doing it again-"

"Are you following me?"

"Touché," he grumbles. He huffs in feigned annoyance again and looks down at the papers in his hands. He has to admit, he's never really met anyone other than Jessica who can go toe to toe with him. He will give this woman a pass…for today. The text before his eyes suddenly becomes clear. "Wait, _Othello_? You can't be serious."

"What's wrong with _Othello_?" She nearly screeches.

"Two things: it bases it's argument on motiveless malignancy and ultimately fails to explore Othello's full hamartia," he says. She stares at him then, eyes wide like she's surprised that he isn't just some idiot. It may have been years ago, but he did study a decent balance of philosophy and English as an undergraduate. He blinks a few times before he says, "What?"

"Nothing," she says after a moment, shaking her head, "Nothing. Just read here."

She leans forward and points at the page to indicate where Cassio begins speaking. He catches a wife of her shampoo, her perfume, or something of that nature and he is momentarily distracted as he stares at her manicured nails. He scuffs the toe of his shoe on the concrete to guide himself back to the matter beneath her fingertip. He scans the page and realizes that it's a scene between Cassio and Bianca. He laughs suddenly, the noise flowing out of him almost as loud as a horn.

 _What the hell was that?_ he asks himself as she says, "Why are you laughing?"

He lifts his gaze to her for a moment, noting that her brown eyes are sharp and crisp in color. He says, "Bianca is a shady woman. You're really reading for the part of Bianca?"

"Bianca is the catalyst for the whole play," she counters, "Without her, the play is irrelevant."

"She participates in an affair and you want me to read the part of a cheater," he says, voice rough and mean. He stands then, gripping the papers tight in his grasp.

"Sorry about your moral code," she replies dismissively, "I didn't realize that a fictional relationship would make a grown man become such a big baby."

"If you don't have a solid moral code then what do you have?"

He's annoyed by her audacity to be so flippant on a matter such as infidelity. He can't believe she is staring him down in the middle of Central Park and they are squaring off like two people who are ready to go to war with one another when she is so wrong on principle. He still doesn't even know her name.

She laughs in the back of her throat. She sounds almost maniacal. She says, "You know what? Forget it. I'll ask that guy there to help me out."

He follows the line of her finger as a very questionable man passes by. His gaze narrows on the intruding man as the guy steps a little bit closer, the woman now completely out of his line of vision. He feels the papers in his grasp being pried from his fingers and he immediately snaps his gaze back at her.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" He barks.

"You obviously have some hang ups about a play written in sixteen-oh-four – which, by the way, is a classic story about a man and his human instincts. Maybe you fail to see just how flawed men are, but don't feel obligated to do me any favors," she says. He gives her the once over, eyes trailing over the length of her frame from head to toe. Her stance depicts everything he's seen in a woman ready to go for the jugular. He's slightly turned on right now. "Give me my damn play back so you can get on with your merry little way."

"Knock it off," he replies, snatching the papers out of her fingers and pulling them to his chest. His elongated sign falls out of his mouth as he thinks that she's persistently annoying. She was prettier when she wasn't so annoying. "I'll help you, okay?"

"Don't make it sound like you're doing me any favors," she counters, "I could easily ask any of these other eligible bachelors."

He's honestly taken aback by her deduction. She couldn't possibly know that about him, not without knowing him. It isn't like he has hit on her or even suggested they get breakfast at his place after sex. No, he could easily imagine sex with her, sure, but she's an attractive woman and he is a prized piece of male specimen.

"How do you know I'm a bachelor?"

"You made your stance on cheating very clear and the amount of times you've given me the once over, which you wouldn't be doing unless you were single, strongly indicates that you find me attractive. You got flushed and presumably jealous when I suggested I ask someone else for help, and I saw you glaring at him as he looked at me," she declares with a smirk.

His mouth is hanging open by now as his brow is furrowed in surprise. He doesn't understand how she can be so on point when he's never spoken to her before. He shakes off the surprise and rolls his shoulders. He slowly sits back down beside her on the bench and averts his eyes to the paper in his grasp.

He reads, " _What do you mean by this haunting of me?_ "

He looks up from the paper, the woman suddenly serious as she says, "Let the devil and his hand haunt you. What did you mean by that same handkerchief you gave me even now? I was a fine fool to take it. I must take out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in your chamber, and not know who left it there. This is some minx's token, and I must take out the work? There, give it to your hobby-horse. Wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work on it."

She pauses in her speech for just a moment, long enough for him to look down and note that she is reciting the speech line for line. He's never necessarily worked well with a script and he prefers to choose his words in the heat of the moment. No amount of speech preparation has ever helped him succeed more than a seamless moment of argument jam packed full with evidence. Some people just have a gift.

He's taken aback, watching her animated movements and distracted by her pronunciation. So much so that when she finishes the quote he is no longer paying attention. He's staring at her, thumb sliding over the paper between his fingers. He absently licks his lips, imagining seeing her performance amongst a crowd of people. She would undoubtedly steal the show from everyone else.

"It's your part," she says.

"Oh, right," he says, shifting his gaze to the papers again. He remembers going to a play or two in high school but he never completely understood the way that Shakespeare is written in fractions of sentences. He's always been a bigger fan of blunt and direct. He stares at the paper hard for a moment trying to find his place. Her finger reaches over and taps on the paper where he should be. He can tell she has read this a million times. Her hand brushes over his and he feels a warmth flood to his cheeks. He clears his throat and reads, " _How now, my sweet Bianca! how now! how now!_ "

He'll have to read _Othello_ again later. She ushers him on to read the next part, which belongs to the character Othello. He sighs and absently wipes at his forehead with the back of his hand. He groans then and lifts his eyes off of the paper to look at her. He says, "Seriously? Why not try out for a different part? You can do better than Bianca. You could be a leading lady."

"That sounds like something my agent gets paid to tell me," she counters.

"Maybe your agent is right," he says. He sighs as she looks away. He wonders if she is embarrassed or annoyed. She looks embarrassed, but he doesn't really know this woman so he can't be entirely sure. "I don't know you, but if this is your worst in regards to acting, then you should definitely aim higher."

She doesn't say anything. He is slightly surprised that she is rendered speechless. He's only known her for five total minutes, but she hasn't shut up since. The fact that she won't look directly at him is what alarms him the most.

"Hey," he says softly, reaching over and hooking his fingers beneath her chin. He directs her gaze back to his and when she looks at him, an eyebrow pops up on her forehead. He says, "I'm sure you're great."

"Thanks," she replies with a small nod. Her phone chirps in her purse and she seems to jump on the opportunity to turn away from him. He sighs as her skin scratches at his fingertips and the warmth of her skin disappears from his touch. "I have to go. Yoga."

He pulls his hand back to his lap and nods. He hands her the papers in his hand back and watches carefully as she shoves them into her purse. He absently wipes as his forehead, standing when she does. He swallows the thick film of saliva.

"Good luck," he says. She turns away from him so slowly that he thinks she's hesitating. He wonders all day if the spark was all in his head. He buys a copy of _Othello_ on the way home.


End file.
